Diplomacy By Physical Force, if Neccessary
by WargishBoromirFan
Summary: On the way to Imaldris, Boromir stops by the Golden Hall for a horse and directions. The meeting with Wormtongue goes less well than planned.


A/N: It's that time of year, and the muses decided to combine a really good pre-war Rohan fic with Jefferson and Adams via another pair of leaders who happened to die on the same day for inspiration. Needless to say, I don't own them by any means; the things I write are only light extemporania.

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><p>Faramir wouldn't have done that. He and Father might have wanted to, if they had heard what the slimy little man had said, but they would have been able to turn his words back on him, catch and reflect every weakness within the poisonous words, dealing the man a much more dangerous blow to his psyche rather than his person. Faramir might have even pitied the bastard.<p>

I am accustomed to recognizing such twisting traps. When I am in a more patient and forgiving mood, I can even navigate them with very little damage done to any particular party - I did grow up with my father and Faramir, two men who know very well the power of diction and tone. But after losing a horse, skirting entirely too close to an orcish raiding party while by my lonesome and not being able to take them down afoot before Theodred and his hotheaded cousin came riding by with an eored and a half between them, bearing their mix of teasing - which, although pushed well beyond the hilarity of my supposed incompetence, at least had the prince and his marshals laughing ridiculously, and a happily ridiculous Eomer was an easier one to take than a broodingly or angrily ridiculous Eomer, and I never quite believed Theodred when he insisted that his cousin was not always ridiculous - and odd wariness for our destination, - I had not visited the Golden Hall itself since I was Eomer's age, but no past visit had given me the slightest warning of what was to come, - I was disinclined to meet such insinuations with my usual level of diplomacy. Certainly, such a statement might be met with derisive laughter from most members of my family, or at least a raised eyebrow from my father and gentle chuckles from my brother and Uncle Imrahil, but I am capable of solving diplomatic quandaries with something other than a fist; I am not some battle-hungry callow young horse-lord who thinks with his spear first, his warrior's pride second.

It just felt so damned good to punch the greasy git of a king's advisor.

I'd gotten a decent amount of distance, too: Grima bounced once or thrice before sliding to a stop, his affronted screeching trailing off into a pained moan as he wobbled to his feet and hissed threats between clenched teeth. He was at least clever enough to stay out of arm's reach after that. Part of me was tempted to drive him from sword range, to a more or less permanent extent. Certainly enough disreputable-looking guardsmen lingering in the shadows had put hand to steel, but Theodred and his marshals stood with me, and I stood unafraid. But I was already acting too much like Eomer. I'd disappoint my family enough with my undiplomatic behavior already on display.

"This is the gratitude Gondor shows her most generous ally when received as a guest? Behold the grace and courtesy of the stewards!" Once he stopped swaying with every unnerved breath, Grima was quick to reveal the fomenting bruise already forming against his sallow skin. "I know not why we should ever offer you so much as direction back to your own kingdom, let alone a horse and guide to the north and assistance for the costly wars that Gondor ever escalates to display its puffed-up military aspirations."

He had already been treading thin ground, and it was more the sight of Theodred physically holding his cousin back from repeating my greeting to their king's advisor than my own inner restraint when my men were on the line that kept me to words. "Would that I could escalate the war and drive Sauron and his armies from our doorstep. If we could bring the battle to the Dark Lord's lands, it would save your borders as well as ours."

"Perhaps in Gondor the king might abandon his lands to challenge spirits in their tombs, but here in Rohan, our rulers remain with their people during times of trouble. Here, we judge a lord based on how well he rules, not whether he is foolhardy enough to stand before the Black Gates and call for single combat. Lord or no, you obviously have little idea of how to treat with true councilors of a king. But that is why there is still a royal line with a future in our country and naught but servants better suited for a wine-cellar left for the house of Anarion." Grima's gaze had gone to a figure in white beside the king, which returned her to the cold, tight-lipped statue of ice she'd been upon our entrance. For just a moment, while Grima had been knocked to his back and had his eyes on me, she'd smiled, and it had made her look as young and lovely as my baby cousin Lothiriel.

"While I'm certain that Theoden King would no sooner promote a man above his rightful station than my own father would, -" I severely doubted that, but never let it be said that I held all in Rohan in as low esteem as this man who could cut away such beauty with his eyes or Eomer, "And neither would any past King of Gondor, one wonders if the King of Rohan might not do well to promote a few more rat-catchers." Theodred quirked an eyebrow at this while Grima snarled, but Theoden himself seemed deaf to the matter.

The king was old - younger than my father, not much older than Uncle Imrahil, but how heavily the years weighed upon him. Where any man who called Father a dotard would be quickly disabused of the notion and Uncle still seemed just as comfortable astride a warhorse as dandling a babe upon his knee, even if the latest child to receive such treatment was his own eldest son's son, the King of Rohan seemed anchored to his throne more by the thick robes and blankets bundled about his person than by the body trembling beneath them. Theoden King had viewed his son and nephew's arrival and Grima's journey across the hall with the same mien of tired befuddlement, and I doubted that it was because he possessed a more discreet temperament than Theodred or the frozen-lily-maid rooted at her king's side. Théoden King, when his eyes focused at all, seemed to send his watery stare from face to face, trying to match up the men and women in the current dingy hall to the ghosts of Rohan's past, doubtlessly finding us all malformed and lacking.

Our surroundings certainly seemed worse for the comparison to the Golden Hall from my youth. Where once I had marveled at the bright tapestries and throngs of golden-haired riders and their ladies bustling purposely and boisterously about well-laden tables, mixing business and laughter with a frank openness that put my mother's seafaring people of Dol Amroth to shame, the stark decay of moldering finery, tight-lipped, fast-walking servants who fled the main hall as soon as their duties were completed, sullen guardsmen and seething riders locking eyes in anger from opposite shadows of the room, and notable absence of petitioners of the lower classes put me more in mind of a different court that I had known at age ten: this new Edoras was the court of a man in mourning, even if the subject of such grief was not yet dead. But who else might the kingdom be mourning if not Theoden himself? Theodred was as hale and hearty as we could ever be with the threat of Mordor barreling westward, Eomer was far too contrary to die before me, and their young kinswoman stood unbroken, if perhaps a bit fragile to my eye. Their people were troubled more and more from orc raids these past few months, but Theodred and his men had warned me that Grima - and therefore the king - would give the matter so little regard that the eoreds were forced to patrol without the crown's blessing, undermanned, undersupplied, and hiding their whereabouts from the snake in the Golden Hall, often meaning that they not only didn't know when aid would come, but they didn't even have a chance to coordinate to whom they'd be sending aid, either.

I wished I could offer Theodred more help and hope than a vague dream and a public right hook, but mostly I managed to just make things worse for both of us. "Indeed, for we appear to have vermin following the prince into your hall, your majesty. Perhaps the guards had best show this impertinent foreigner your doors." Grima retreated to the king's side, issuing the suggestion as the order it was. Theoden remained mute.

Fortunately, Theodred stepped out before the guards could seize me and haul me bodily out the entrance. "I will see the Steward's heir out, Father. I hope I might join Eomer in greeting you and Eowyn more properly once I have returned." His bow was to his father, but Theodred's brief looks of warning and sympathy were to his cousins.

"To your health, wisdom, and long life, Theoden King." The courtesies seemed hollow when spoken aloud to such a lost old man, but I wished for them anyway, bowing mechanically in turn before leaving at Theodred's side as if anything had been accomplished here.

"That was poorly done," he told me as we reclaimed our weapons outside. Theodred's tone was mild, but I of all people ought to recognize a politic reproof when I hear it.

"Aye, you needn't tell me that," I agreed with a sigh. "I suppose I'll be banished from Rohan until you take the throne, if Father and Faramir will even allow me to return then," I predicted gloomily.

"Who says that I'd allow you back even once we are in charge of our respective kingdoms? Perhaps there is some truth to the worm's tongue today." The prince was very good at maintaining a straight face, but the wind of the plains surrounding Edoras stole some of the gravity from his voice. Out on the stairs of the Golden Hall, still high above the village and out in the clean air and sunlight, our weapons reassuring weights back in their proper sheaths, we seemed as far from Grima's influence as Imaldris. Wherever the Valar-forsaken place might be.

I might let Grima get the better of my temper while distracted, but never Theodred. "You'll let me back. You need someone to punch uppity advisors for you."

"I have Eomer for that," he laughed, though he, too, seemed to have his mind in other places, other times, other battles. We might have played together as children, but I reflected that I would never know the man Theodred had become very well, even if we fought different fronts of the same unwinnable war. At least he had Eomer, for better or for worse. "And you shall have your own court of uppity advisors to punch. But it will be many years yet before I take the throne or you the white rod, Bema and Grima willing."

"So long as Grima wills it, then." Theodred grunted in agreement to the unspoken implications and I walked a little faster against the wind. The snake of an advisor might do everything in his power to insure that the ailing king never returned to health, but it would be suicide to see Theoden dead. There was less love lost between Theodred and Grima than my own father and Thorongil, and Grima did little to endear himself to the common man, either. The thought of Thorongil sparked an idea, however far-fetched, but it might give Theodred a little hope. A smile, at least. Out here was a place for smiles. "You know, I have a few idiot younger cousins of my own, and Erchirion and Amrothos are very good at setting sails. What do you say we see if a journey to Umbar convinces Grima that his skills are more needed in the far north? He might even discover Imaldris for me."

"Doubtless Umbar would accept him as one of their own," Theodred deadpanned. "We couldn't even hope for a Gondorian victory, let alone a Rohirric one, for even if your idiot cousins are idiotic compared to _you_, Grima Wormtongue is terrible enough at tactics that he could make a mess of running at the general populace, waving your sword about, and screaming like a wounded boar."

If only for Erchirion and Amrothos's sakes, I felt compelled to defend my own tactical abilities from the horse-lord. "I do not scream when I run." Theodred and Faramir were best at surprise attacks against a larger force, but one had to count being able to go into pitched battle against a greater host and come out alive, even victorious, for something.

"No, your war-cries are perfectly melodious; a grunted, drawn-out 'Gondor!' interspersed with tootles from that sorry little cow horn is much more terrifying than the songs of the spear and shield and hoof rising from the plain." He had forestalled me from blowing a greeting blast from my horn upon my arrival to Edoras and motioned my hand from the baldric once more. He'd claimed he'd already heard it enough today, but I hadn't realized that my visit to the Golden Hall would be quite so short. It seemed like I would have waited longer between soundings while in battle than between my entrance and exit, and this struck me as an ill omen.

Temper still somewhat ruffled, I struck what blows I could for exacerbating my nerves, even if the prince deserved no blame for igniting them. "You'll make some horse-lord a fine queen someday, as delicate and artistic as your temperament is, Theodred."

"And you shall make some horse a fine ass, as soon as we find the palfrey gentle and patient enough to bear your bulk."

"I would not deprive you of your favorite war mount." Truly, after seeing the combination of the Second and Third Marshals' eoreds fighting orcs in their fields and the snake in their king's hall, part of me was loath to take any of their hard-won supplies, but some half-remembered dream-glimpse of Isildur's Bane haunted my sleep, driving me northward, and I was truly not looking forward to hiking all the way to Arnor and back without more than I could carry on my person.

"But of course, Rohan's rudest farm ponies would seem magnificent chargers compared to Gondor's stock. It is not your fault that you've had so little exposure to your betters."

"I'll have you know that my uncle is a fine judge of horseflesh and breeds most excellent steeds for battle and travel." I was not looking forward to explaining the loss of my mare to him and my cousins, either. In addition to their skill with ships, the young ones were quickly surpassing my abilities with horses, if not Faramir's. It was many years since I had last walked Erchirion home with a broken arm from some wild stunt he'd pulled on a yearling too untamed for him. I still refused to put any thought to Theodred's teasing; I could sit a horse well enough, if I had no particular love for the beasts.

"Someone in Gondor has to, if they are to keep up with you," Theodred persisted, though he finally sobered as we reached the bottom of the long stair to the Golden Hall. "Though I suppose I might spare you one, simply so that you might know what a real horse rides like. I would not have you think that we in Rohan are all as niggardly with our gifts as our neighbors in the forests."

I shook my head. "Orcs and elven witches and Dunlanders and now a serpent in your hall. You are lucky to have at least one friend to the south who will do no worse than borrow your horse from time to time."

"Be sure that you are _borrowing_ one. That means you return the bridle to my hand while it is attached to a living - and if you would be so kind, healthy - horse. Our eored can afford to sacrifice nothing else. I trust you can comply with this?" Theodred asked.

"You will get far more than the horse in return," I promised, my mind once again focusing on the flash of gold in my dreams. "With Isildur's Bane, I think we will be able to take the fight to the enemy."

"Remember its name and the follies of your fallen kings, Boromir. I would hate to have to send Eomer away to punch whatever uppity advisors your brother is too diplomatic to assault. Or worse, Eowyn. She'd feed them and then punch whichever fool is honest enough to insult her cooking." With such relatives as he had, I was tempted to take pity on the prince and introduce him to my own baby cousins. At least Elphir and his wife were sensible, if rather stodgy for as young as they were, and Lothiriel could charm the cooks out of what she couldn't make herself.

"It is Isildur's Bane, not mine. I know my limits; I'll leave you a few dozen orcs and perhaps a Black Rider each for your cousins." I could not say for certain just how powerful this weapon would be, not without seeing it for myself, but the words had burned themselves into my ears: _stronger than morgul-spells..._

Theodred chuckled, though there was little joy in the sound. "You will have more than enough to fight headed north on your own. While you are heading through the Gap, though, I must insist that you avoid the wizard's keep. There have been too many bands of orcs sighted there for you to risk a horse seeking advice from Saruman that you won't heed, anyhow."

While my father had little love for wizards, either, it was strange to hear this about Saruman the White. He was the head of his order; how desperate must the situation in Rohan be if he could not keep the enemy from the bounds of Isengard? "Eventually, I am going to have to have a better idea of where to travel than 'north.' Better to receive it from a trusted source like Saruman rather than the witch of the Golden Wood, no? I think I can brave a few orc encounters, but I'll do my best to avoid them, if that would better spare your precious horse."

"Please, for the sake of the horse, if not your foolish hide, trust me: you should not seek Saruman's advice." Lowering his voice much more than he had for our earlier banter, Theodred's eyes flickered as if he were expecting to encounter an ambush instead of groomsmen on the way to the stables. "I know your city has sheltered the Storm-crow from time to time, but I fear he is not the only one of the white wizard's agents to bear an unsettling name. The crow might fly on wings of ill tidings, but Saruman's newest catspaw worms trouble into the house from less obvious sources."

I tensed my jaw, uncomfortably reminded of my father and brother's arguments over Mithrandir. Father accused Faramir of becoming a wizard's pupil, a shell of the mind he should possess for putting so much trust in the gray wizard's word, and yet it was Father who displayed eyes as old and dangerous as Mithrandir's when he retreated to his private study, Father who returned as black-tempered and tired as the storm-crow the Rohirrim had dubbed the wizard after. I had no wish to become a wizard's pupil myself, but if Mithrandir stood as another shield between my brother and the storm, then let Faramir shelter under the gray crow's wing. "Just because Grima might pay lip service to Saruman doesn't mean that the white wizard knows about all he does. Even the wisest might be fooled on occasion."

"Yet you and I and Eomer can see Wormtongue for what he is. He has spent years creeping into my father's good graces; surely one as wise as Saruman the White claims to be would recognize the changes that Grima's favor have wrought." Well, it was hard to argue for the wisdom of Eomer.

"What are the lives of Numenorean mongrels such as us to a wizard?" I shrugged all the same. I was headed for Dunland and the trackless expanse of the northwest, and I'd hoped to find some alternative route to the ancient kings-road that ran straight through the middle of hostile territory. "Years do not count so much for one who has lived for centuries."

Theodred's gaze slitted, and not against the sunlight. "We count for very, very little to them, Boromir. Seek you instead the men of the north rather than the guidance of immortals. They are harder to find, perhaps, but I would rather put trust in another who fights the same war that we do."

"Even when we borrow your horse?" I asked as we entered the stables.

"I'm not in the habit of loaning my mount to any man, elf, or dwarf who pops out of the grass. See that you take care of her, and yourself as well." Theodred handed me a saddle and pad from the tack room, carrying the bridle himself. "You may be a horse's ass from time to time, but you're my kind of horse's ass."

"You too, Theodred. If only to spare Rohan the headache of Eomer's diplomacy with my Gondor, stay safe."

"Of course! No one wants to witness that debacle. Besides, it'd be harder to receive my horse and this kingly weapon you dreamed of if one or both of us are dead." For just a moment, I thought I caught a hint of longing in Theodred's eye, as if my old friend would fain ride northward with me and see what had haunted my dreams for himself. It was simply a desire to escape Grima for a while, I told myself, coupled with the reflection of my own eagerness. I added Rohan's prince to the list of reasons why I had to find Imaldris and return with a weapon, by any means necessary. Too many had put their trust in me to fail, and the dream of gold felt as heavy as the memories of their eyes.

I simply wished I was not riding blind.


End file.
